


i said, excuse me you’re a hell of a guy

by Anonymous



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Established Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Fluff and Crack, IwaOi Day, IwaOi Week 2020 (Haikyuu!!), M/M, Minor Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Romantic Fluff, Self-Indulgent, but maybe he spits bars, iwaizumi most definitely does not, matsuhana seasoned gays, oikawa has an impressive gaydar, oikawa sings in the shower, or so iwaizumi thinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-05
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:20:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28393755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Slowly, Iwaizumi swivels his head around to eye the innocuous door. His first thought is to knock it down and throw Oikawa out the window. His second thought is to throw the speaker out the window instead, because it takes two to pay rent.He does neither, because the speaker was an investment, rent is expensive, and Oikawa Tooru is something close to 72kg of pure muscle.oikawa sings in the shower and iwaizumi is terribly in love
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro & Iwaizumi Hajime & Matsukawa Issei & Oikawa Tooru, Hanamaki Takahiro & Matsukawa Issei, Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime & Oikawa Tooru, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 8
Kudos: 129
Collections: Anonymous, IwaOi Fics





	i said, excuse me you’re a hell of a guy

**Author's Note:**

> head in hands

  
  


“…I want to say to all the young women out there: There are going to be people along the way who try to undercut your success or take credit for your accomplishments or your fame.”

  


Iwaizumi clenches and unclenches his fists. The early morning sunlight streams in through their balcony doors, landing right on his laptop screen and accentuating the grand total of two sentences he’s written in the past forty-five minutes. 

  


For the ninth time in half as many minutes, he reformats his header, changing IWAIZUMI HAJIME to _IWAIZUMI HAJIME_ and back again. 

  


Oikawa’s voice floats over to their living room. “But if you just focus on the work and you don’t let those people sidetrack you, someday, when you get where you’re going, you will look around and you will know — it was you, and the people who love you, who put you there. And that will be the greatest feeling in the world.” He sighs dramatically, the splash of water against tile telling Iwaizumi enough about why their water bill was _so damn high_ every month.

  


Iwaizumi knows Oikawa, and knows that he’s probably standing in the shower, safely out of the stream of water with the temperature cranked all the way up so the steam can keep him warm, conditioner setting in his hair and the water running freely. Chances are he’s making shampoo-and-body-wash magic potions too, blowing bubbles and just having a grand old time as the water runs and the bill rises. 

  


All the while, he’s choosing to reenact Taylor Swift’s Grammy acceptance speech for the third time in a row.

  


“I want to say to all the young women out there…”

  


For the fourth time in a row. 

  


Iwaizumi feels his eye twitch as he glares balefully at the cheery weather outside, inviting and warm. Somewhere along the line of their twenty-one year long friendship, he ended up here, listening to his roommate make an absolute fool of himself in the shower instead of writing this extremely important, course pass-or-fail deciding paper. 

  


His paper, which he hasn’t even started the preliminary research for, would have mocked him if it existed at all. Iwaizumi is the type of guy who needs silence to work – strict librarians and the stressed engineering majors with their five courses per semester sitting in the numerous university libraries for days and nights on end during exam season make for, in his opinion, the best company to work around. 

  


Any space with deafening silence except the occasional sniffle and the frantic rustling of paper is preferable, and that’s the opposite of both his home and of Oikawa (privately, Iwaizumi admits that the two can be used interchangeably), who manages to somehow get all his work done in one sitting and forgets that everyone else isn't as fast as he is.  
Oikawa Tooru isn’t a genius, but he’s pretty damn close. 

  


And loud. 

  


Good _god_ is Oikawa loud. 

  


“But if you just focus on the work and you don’t let those people sidetrack you, someday, when you get where you’re going, you will look around and you will know —” Iwaizumi slams down his laptop lid, pushing back from his seat at the kitchen table and storming over to the bathroom door. 

  


He grips the knob, scowling ever deeper when he notices the condensation dripping from it. The door is streaked with water vapour, droplets running down the grooves in smooth runs. Iwaizumi is about to push it open before he remembers that Oikawa is actually showering in there. With real water and everything. 

  


“ — it was you, and the people who love you, who put you there. And that will be the greatest feeling in the world.” Oikawa’s voice is even louder now that he’s standing right outside. Before he can begin the speech again (for the fifth time), Iwaizumi swings the door open violently, real showers be damned, entirely unprepared for the suffocating wall of heat that smacks him right in the face. 

  


“Oi! Shittykawa!” he yells, wiping his wet hands on the clean clothes Oikawa has resting on the stool. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, but hopefully he knows. What harm could it do for Oikawa to have to pull on cold and wet jeans after a shower? Maybe it would teach him a lesson in humility; one does _not_ need to wear stiff skinny jeans in the apartment when one is going absolutely nowhere and seeing absolutely no one. 

  


In the back of his mind he can see Matsukawa looking knowingly at him. Behind him, Hanamaki is doing an exaggerated runway-ready catwalk and running his hands down his chest and over his hips. Half of Iwaizumi’s mind is telling him that his friends don’t know what they’re talking about and the other half is arguing that Oikawa looks better in those pants than brain-conjured Hanamaki does. 

  


Deep breaths. Mind empty. He does not have Oikawa-in-skinny-jeans thoughts. He takes a step forward and flicks the shower curtain with his index finger and thumb. “I don’t think T. Swift would approve of you plagiarizing her speech,” he says drily. 

  


Oikawa shrieks twice, first in surprise and then in a small gasp of admonishment. The shower curtain jostles a bit as he fumbles with it before a head of shampoo-lathered chocolate locks peeks out, round eyes wide and reproachful. 

  


“Iwa-chan!” He protests. “It’s not plagiarism if I’m not going to use it for anything!” 

  


Iwaizumi fixes him with a hard look. “Then you don’t need to be rehearsing it.”

  


Oikawa huffs at that, smoothing the shampoo into a small section of hair. “You just don't understand Taylor like I do,” he says petulantly.  
Before Iwaizumi can retort, he ducks his head back under the stream of water, knocking the shower curtain slightly and not bothering to slide it back in place. Iwaizumi watches the flimsy plastic flutter back and forth on the rod before settling three fourths of the way closed, just barely hinting at strong shoulders and the smooth ridges along the curve of his spine. 

  


“You don’t have proper appreciation for such a life-changing speech,” Oikawa calls through a splash of water.

  


Iwaizumi tears his eyes away. “I can appreciate it properly _after_ I finish my life-changing paper,” Iwaizumi fires back. “If I can ever get around to starting it. That is, if someone would stop babbling in the shower.”

  


“The only life your paper is changing is mine,” Oikawa grumbles. “For the worse. You’re killing the mood, Iwa-chan! Which class is this for?” 

  


Iwaizumi snorts. “English Lit. Besides, who said anything about you? _My_ life is at stake here.” He presses his back to the door and slides down until he’s sitting on the wood panelled floors, letting out a sigh as he tilts his head to lean on the wall. “It’s due in four hours and I don’t know how to even start it.” 

  


Oikawa pops back out with hair now devoid of shampoo and plastered to his forehead, pointing an accusing finger directly at Iwaizumi. Iwaizumi stares up at him and ignores the small drop of water resting at the base of Oikawa’s throat. 

  


“That’s literally one of your gen eds, who even cares? That’s the farthest thing from life-changing. You made it sound like I was going to be the reason you failed biochem or something,” he complains. 

  


“I still can’t _fail_ it, Oikawa.” Even if it has nothing to do with sports science, his major. “And I’m about to if you don’t shut up.”

  


He follows the droplet running down and along Oikawa’s delicate collarbones before glancing back up at his face. Oikawa squints at him, waggling his index on his left hand and pushing a hand through his hair with the right. 

  


“What you need, Iwa-chan, is inspiration for your paper. Taylor Swift is the best place to start with that.” 

  


Iwaizumi rolls his eyes at that. It’s a good thing Oikawa is at least twice as annoying as he is attractive or else Iwaizumi would have been in big trouble renting out an apartment with him for four years. 

  


And Oikawa is _very_ attractive, a fact he hasn’t let Iwaizumi forget since they were five years old. Or rather, a fact Iwaizumi hasn’t been able to forget since they were five years old, no matter how hard he tries.

  


“What I _need_ is for you to stop rehearsing that speech on repeat, you waste of water. Unless you want us to pay for our own utilities.” Oikawa retreats at that, hastily poking out his tongue and flinging the shower curtain closed (finally) with a pout. They should really invest in a thicker curtain. At least even Oikawa doesn’t look good with wet hair stuck to his forehead. Not _that_ good, if Iwaizumi is being stingy. 

  


“You know,” Oikawa mutters. “I think we’re fine with a fifty-fifty split.”

  


He showers in silence after that.

  


-

  


For about a week, anyway. 

  


The next Sunday after Iwaizumi successfully handed in a trainwreck of a paper (turns out it wasn’t just Oikawa that put a damper on his productivity; he also had _no fucking clue_ what was going on in that class), he’s sitting on the couch when Oikawa starts up the shower. 

  


Unblinking, Iwaizumi scrolls through another page in his pre-reading for physiology, one of the actually life-changing classes. He barely even registers Oikawa’s movements before the bathroom door shuts, barely notices the swiped speaker no longer resting on the coffee table. 

  


Until the music starts. 

  


The electronic intro of Nicki Minaj’s _Super Bass_ softly sounds from the direction of the bathroom, thrumming through the walls. Oikawa must crank the volume up to the highest it can go, because suddenly it goes from small pulses and vibrations Iwaizumi can feel to thick, throbbing beats he can’t ignore. 

  


Slowly, Iwaizumi swivels his head around to eye the innocuous door. His first thought is to knock it down and throw Oikawa out the window. His second thought is to throw the speaker out the window instead, because it takes two to pay rent. 

  


He does neither, because the speaker was an investment, rent is expensive, and Oikawa Tooru is something close to 72 kilograms of pure muscle. 

  


He leans over, grabbing his mug off of the coffee table (next to where the speaker used to be– damn him, he should have noticed). It’s lukewarm at best, and when Iwaizumi takes a tentative sip it’s pretty much just a full cup of straight cold espresso shots. 

  


Iwaizumi pauses as Nicki Minaj’s voice blasts through the speakers. She barely makes it through the first line before he hears a violent rustle followed by, _“fuck, I missed it!”_ and the sound of the intro again. Iwaizumi closes the lid to his laptop softly, setting it down on the cushions and accepting the fact that if he has to listen to The Best of Nicki Minaj at eardrum shattering decibels for the foreseeable future he might as well enjoy his coffee as a beverage instead of a drug. 

  


Iwaizumi heads to the kitchen and pulls out a carton of milk from the fridge, unscrewing the cap and pouring until his cup is almost full to the brim before replacing the carton back in the fridge. He leans down and slides open the freezer to dig a scoop into the ice tray. 

  


Between the mug sitting on the counter behind him and the open freezer below him, Iwaizumi is halfway to completing his iced coffee when Oikawa starts to, not wait for the chorus to sing, not listen to the music and appreciate Nicki, not do anything expected of him, but instead, Oikawa Tooru, aged 21, starts to _rap_.

  


Anyone who knows Oikawa Tooru knows his favourite genres of music are rap and pop. Anyone who knows Iwaizumi knows Oikawa, and anyone who knows Oikawa knows that Iwaizumi Hajime's favourite genres of music are hip-hop, rap, and indie pop.

  


Anyone who knows anything at all knows of Nicki Minaj, Super Bass, and the top hits of the 2010s.

  


_"This one is for the boys with the booming system,  
Top down, AC with the cooler system,"_

  


Iwaizumi is, for lack of better and more descriptive words to fully, _truly_ , encapsulate how he feels, stunned.

  


The ice clatters out of his scoop and crashes onto the ground, ice cubes sliding along the wooden panelling. Some shatter on impact, leaving dusty crystals to melt under the fridge. Some are melting already, slowly dripping water into the cracks between the floorboards.

  


_"And he ill, he real, he might gotta deal,  
He pop bottles and he got the right kind of build,  
He cold, he dope, he might sell Coke,"_

  


Faintly, the responsible and rational side of Iwaizumi's brain registers that if he doesn't dry the ground immediately and pick up the spilled ice, the water in the floorboards will freeze over in the winter, expand the gaps between the boards, and cause a lot bigger of a problem than Oikawa rapping. _("He always in the air, but he never fly coach.")_

  


In the moment though, _nothing_ poses as big a problem to Iwaizumi's sanity as Oikawa rapping to _Super Bass_. The problem isn't even just that Oikawa can apparently rap, it's that he's actually good at it –

  


_"He a motherfuckin' trip, trip, sailor of the ship, ship  
When he make it drip, drip kiss him on the lip, lip,"_

  


– Iwaizumi stutters a breath. Sure, Oikawa curses. Iwaizumi curses. Hanamaki and Matsukawa curse. He's even heard Kunimi mutter a swear under his breath (although is that really surprising?), and has heard Kindaichi let a 'fuck' or two slip on occasion. Hell, even Coach Irihata had sworn before, back when they played on the high school volleyball team. Particularly hard when they lost to Karasuno, harder to himself in the hallways alone.

  


The difference this time, with Oikawa, is that Iwaizumi has _never_ heard him sound like that before. Oikawa is the personification of the tilde symbol and the 'kissing-face-with-smiley-eyes- emoji’. Not exactly the first person that comes to mind when Iwaizumi considers who the rapper would be out of anyone and everyone he knows, but.. Oikawa’s _good._

  


Really good. Crazy good, even. His voice is a mix of the deep and chilling tone he always took on right before their matches to say, _"I believe in all of you,"_ and something smoother, less enigmatic, filled with passion.

  


_"I said, excuse me you're a hell of a guy,  
I mean my, my, my, my you're like pelican fly  
I mean, you're so shy and I'm loving your tie,  
You're like slicker than the guy with the thing on his eye, oh,"_

  


Iwaizumi fumbles numbly for a towel, his coffee forgotten. When he gathers himself enough to actually drink it it'll be cold enough without the ice anyways. If he ever recovers enough to drink it. If he ever even needs coffee again- this memory, this _sound_ alone could probably keep him up and running for a week straight. At least. 

  


Moving like he's submerged underwater, Iwaizumi dumbly swipes the towel back and forth on the ground, doing nothing but streaking the water against the grain of the wood. He repeats the useless motion for a few seconds before he sits back with a small huff, dropping the towel and leaning his head against the counter, listening to Oikawa.

  


_"Yes I did, yes I did, somebody please tell him who the eff I is,  
I am Nicki Minaj, I mack them dudes up,  
Back coupes up, and chuck the deuce up,"_

  


Iwaizumi picks up an ice cube, melting it between his fingers for a few seconds. The water drips down his wrist and dampens his sleeve. He pops it in his mouth, vaguely recognizes that it tastes as good as the ground can, and sucks as hard as he can to distract himself, his brain rattling around in his head, his thoughts a frazzled mess. 

  


Oikawa, raps. Oikawa raps. Raps do Oikawa do. _("Boy you got my heartbeat runnin' away, beating like a drum and it's coming your way,")_

  


Iwaizumi chews on his ice cube with more force than necessary before it hits him that Oikawa has officially entered the chorus, belting out the notes at a volume that nearly drowns out the speaker. Feeling regained in his limbs, he scrambles to his feet, kicking the ice out of the way and under the fridge in a last-ditch attempt to get rid of it and bursts into his room with its considerably more soundproof walls, accidentally loudly slamming the door behind him in his rush. 

  


The water shuts off suddenly, the music sounding a little bit louder now that the splash of water on tile is gone.

  


"Iwa-chan, was that you?" Oikawa calls out, concerned.

  


Iwaizumi screams mentally, groaning and half-heartedly pulling a pillow over his face. "Yeah, don't worry about it. Open window," he yells back weakly. His heart is still racing. He should have grabbed more ice cubes.

  


Oikawa gives an unconvinced _'mhmm'_ but doesn't pry, satisfied at knowing Iwaizumi was still alive. The water turns on again, and in a few seconds he's back to singing his heart out. Ruefully, Iwaizumi pushes the pillow aside and stares at the door, his laptop just on the other side, resting on the couch. In his hurry to get into his slightly thicker-walled room he had left it in the living room, and with it, his pre-reading.

  


Iwaizumi flops onto his back, staring up at the ceiling and trying to process the sounds stuck on replay in his brain. It was like Oikawa's, what, his rap track? His #1 YouTube Hit entitled Oikawa Tooru - Nicki Minaj _Super Bass_ Cover? Whatever it was, _that_ had been converted into a soundwave printed behind his eyes, scanned by his treacherous eyes every time they closed.

  


Oikawa had never _rapped_ before, had he? Iwaizumi would have known if he did, he must have. They grew up together – their parents had been friends in their own childhood, their mothers had been pregnant barely two months apart, for crying out loud. They had gone through daycare, preschool, and twelve years of grades school together, and _then_ they had gotten into the same university, renting out an apartment together for three, soon-to-be-four, years.

  


It wouldn't be an exaggeration to say that Iwaizumi and Oikawa have been joined at the hip for twenty-one years, Iwaizumi hopelessly in love with him for the better part of six, soon-to-be-seven. And he's never heard Oikawa rap even once in his lifetime, not even drunkenly at karaoke. He’s never even mentioned it – a rare thing, for a peacock. 

  


This is madness. Iwaizumi is going mad. He fumbles, sliding his phone out of his pocket and pulling up a new message, selecting Makki and Mattsun in the recipient prompt box.

  


> **Today** at 5:08 PM
> 
>   
> 
> 
> ****
> 
> **Me**  
>  oikawa
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
>  wow not even a hi? makki how r u on this fine day?  
>  its always oikawa this oikawa that never makki how r u my best friend
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Me**  
>  oikawa's rapping
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
>  Oh  
>  what  
>  LMAO WHAT  
>  @Matsukawa Issei
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Me**  
>  it's nto funny he's actually good  
>  like rllygood
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
>  bro where r u rn  
>  U literally live together??  
>  _Delivered_
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
>  iwaizumi.
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Me**  
>  the shower makki he was in the shower  
>  hes IN the shower
> 
>   
> 
> 
> **Hanamaki Takahiro**  
>  oh u poor, poor thing  
>  _Message sent with Gentle Effect_  
>  🤣🤣🤣  
>  Ur in ur room, arent u
> 
>   
> 
> 
> _You disliked “Ur in ur room, arent u”_  
>  _Matsukawa Issei emphasized "oh u poor, poor thing"_

  


Iwaizumi stares at his phone in disbelief and betrayal. He’s pretty sure Oikawa’s singing is getting louder, and his own heart rate is jumping up at a wild, irregular tempo that’s completely out of character. 

  


Iwaizumi was the one who kept the four of them out of trouble for the most part in high school, always the responsible role model against the force of nature that is the other three. Mostly Oikawa, but Hanamaki and Matsukawa did their fair share. 

  


How ironic that the one person who can completely blind and paralyze him is Oikawa, the same Oikawa who’s almost never calm or collected. To be fair, Oikawa is also never _rapping._ Iwaizumi sucks in a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose. 

  


> **Matsukawa Issei**  
>  **To Hanamaki Takahiro & Iwaizumi Hajime**  
>  Join FaceTime Call

  


Iwaizumi rolls over onto his stomach, chin resting on a pillow with his arms outstretched as he takes the call. Even the pitifully small screen of his phone doesn't hide Hanamaki's gleeful grin. Matsukawa's face pops up next to his, the two of them sharing one laptop propped up on their kitchen counter. He leans in close for a second, tapping at the screen before patting Hanamaki on the shoulder and moving back to stir something on the stove.

  


"Sorry, we're just making dinner," Matsukawa's voice comes through, throwing a glance behind his shoulder. "Well, I'm making dinner," he corrects.

  


Hanamaki waves him off, propping his chin on his hands and squinting at the screen.

  


"Are you hiding in your bed?"

  


Iwaizumi shakes his head no, tilting the phone up towards the ceiling so only the top half of his face remains.

  


"You _are_!" Hanamaki exclaims. He stares into the camera. "This was it, huh," he says knowingly.

  


Iwaizumi furrows his brows. Before he can question it, Matsukawa comes back to the counter, a steamed dumpling held between his chopsticks. Without looking, he pops the dumpling into Hanamaki’s mouth.

  


"He means your point of no return," he says.

  


“You can’t pretend you’re not in love with Oikawa anymore,” Hanamaki adds. Iwaizumi buries his head deeper into his pillow, wistfully thinking of denying it. He feels a hot flush burn at the bases of his spine and throat, a dark blush beginning to spread over his shoulders.

  


It’s not as if Oikawa being able to rap was the defining point in their relationship when he realized it was either Oikawa or nothing. He’s known that since, what, maybe their second year of high school? Iwaizumi has had almost five years to come to terms with that. He’s had his whole life to handle being in love with his best friend, but _this_ Oikawa is new.

  


_This_ Oikawa is something completely unknown and foreign, a whole new facet for Iwaizumi to love and endear him to, the tipping point for Iwaizumi. 

  


There’s too much of this Oikawa to love, and Iwaizumi loves hard. 

  


Hanamaki chews thoughtfully. Swallowing, he gives Matsukawa a thumbs-up, prompting him to return to the stove and begin scooping out dumplings onto two ceramic plates.

  


Iwaizumi stares at them morosely. They're so domestic he hates it. He wants it. For a second the two of them chew thoughtfully, alternating between staring at the screen and staring at each other, having silent conversations privy to them alone. Iwaizumi watches, his panic slowly rising as the clock ticks closer to the 45 minute mark that signals when Oikawa usually leaves the bathroom in a cloud of steam. Unbidden, _Super Bass_ plays on loop in his mind. 

  


Obviously, not with Nicki Minaj as the rapper this time. 

  


Finally, Matsukawa swallows and fixes his pixelated stare on Iwaizumi. “Here’s the thing, Iwaizumi.” 

  


He opens his mouth and closes it again, like an elegant fish out of water. “Oikawa has like, the best gaydar ever,” Hanamaki butts in, impatient. “I mean, just look at me and Mattsun,” he motions frantically between him and Matsukawa. It’s true, the two of them had just been pining over each other ever since high school, and they’re still going strong four years after Oikawa pushed them together. 

  


_(“Iwa-chan, it’s just so obvious!” Oikawa had whined on their walk back home after practice. “What’s wrong with bringing two of my best friends together? Look at them.” He kicks a foot out at the two in front. “They’re stupid in love.” Oikawa shoved his crossbody volleyball bag behind his hip in preparation for what would doubtlessly be a mad dash, in the icy winter no less._

  


I’m _stupid in love, Iwaizumi thought. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, grabbing Oikawa’s arm before he could move. “What if you’re wrong,” he hissed, pulling Oikawa back._

  


_Oikawa gave Iwaizumi a look, childishly shrugged his arm out of Iwaizumi’s grasp, and skipped forward without a word towards the pair. He slung an arm around each of their shoulders, pulling the trio into a tight huddle. Iwaizumi almost stumbled over his own feet – after pathetically righting himself he stood and watched, aghast, as Oikawa whispered something in between their heads. Hanamaki and Matsukawa jolted, turning away from each other awkwardly and walking forward._

  


_Iwaizumi felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. Oikawa turned around, smiling triumphantly at Iwaizumi. He stopped, letting the other two walk ahead together, still refusing to face each other, and waited for Iwaizumi to catch up._

  


_“Oikawa,_ what _did you say,” Iwaizumi muttered, furious. He stared at his feet and viciously kicked at a chunk of ice as they walked. Still, Oikawa said nothing, instead poking the small of Iwaizumi’s back to get him to look up. He did, reluctantly._

  


_As they watched, their two best friends huddled together closely on the pathway, not quite touching and with an air of awkwardness hanging over them. Matsukawa leaned down slightly and said something, unheard by Iwaizumi and Oikawa, intimate words evidently meant only for Hanamaki’s ears. Even from behind, they could see the tip of Hanamaki’s ears flush with a tinge of red as he nodded slightly._

  


_Iwaizumi gaped as Matsukawa chuckled and in one smooth motion, unwrapped his scarf from around his neck, looped it around Hanamaki’s, and gave him a lighthearted punch to the shoulder before he laced their fingers together. Iwaizumi felt his heart stutter and give out in relief and confusion. The swarm of moths settled in his stomach dissipated, his knees weak with sudden lack of support. Oikawa nudged him with his shoulder, grin glowing jubilantly against the dark sky as Iwaizumi stared, still baffled._

  


_“See, Iwa-chan?” His teeth chattered slightly from the cold, his breaths coming out in small puffs. “I’m never wrong.” Without missing a beat, he shoved his hands deep in his pocket and jumped over to, in all honesty, probably gloat at the new couple about his part in their relationship not five minutes after it was established._

  


_Iwaizumi watched him bound ahead, still faintly disconcerted. Dazily, he thought about Oikawa, and he thought about the scarf wrapped around his own neck.)_

  


“Yeah I’m looking,” Iwaizumi says. Hanamaki steals a dumpling from Matsukawa’s plate and pops it in his mouth cheekily, making dreamy eyes at the other. “Looking real hard,” he says flatly.

  


Matsukawa rolls his eyes, the hand holding his chopsticks opening and closing as if he wants to give Iwaizumi a forehead flick through the screen. “Oikawa is the most observant out of all of us, and you’re–” He pauses, looking conflicted. “Well, you’re not exactly… the _best_ at hiding your feelings.”

  


The words don’t settle in immediately, Iwaizumi looking blankly at the screen for a few seconds, uncomprehending. The couple glance between each other and back at him expectantly. When it hits him an embarrassingly long time later, Iwaizumi is horrified. 

  


“So you mean– you’re saying that. This… this whole time, he’s known? For all seven years?” Matsukawa’s eyes widen and Hanamaki’s eyebrows rise to his hairline as he lets out a low exhale.

  


“Shit, not _seven_ ,” Matsukawa breathes. “Probably at least two though. You’re not the _worst_ at hiding your feelings either. Just not the best.” 

  


“Kindaichi,” Hanamaki nods sagely. Iwaizumi snorts at that, a pained sound that catches on his tongue and chokes out of his throat. He doesn’t hear the water shut off. 

  


Oikawa knows. 

  


He’s known for _years_ and he’s said nothing. Oikawa isn’t the type of guy to say nothing. He’s not afraid of confronting strangers; he’s never had anything to lose. But with Iwaizumi it would be different, wouldn’t it? Iwaizumi doubted anything could drive the two apart at this point, but at the very least, if Oikawa rejected him before he even had a chance to confess – well, it would make things awkward for a couple months, maybe more. Seven years of pining to get over in one five-minute rejection. Just thinking about it makes Iwaizumi feel unsettled. 

  


“He knows, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want you,” Hanamaki says quickly, noticing the perturbed look on Iwaizumi’s face. Iwaizumi smashes his face deeper into his pillow, groaning. 

  


“So what,” he says, voice muffled. “He just hasn’t said anything for shits and giggles?” Matsukawa sighs impatiently, evidently annoyed.

  


“Oikawa hasn’t said anything yet because _you_ haven’t,” he says. “He’s respecting your boundaries by letting you call the shots. He’s letting you pick when and where. He’s been waiting. For you.” Hanamaki nods enthusiastically. 

  


Iwaizumi chews the inside of his cheek, disbelieving. “But–” 

  


“Iwa-channn~” Oikawa calls from outside his door. The door to his room creaks open, Oikawa’s face peeking in through a crack. “I’m coming in,” he announces, already in. 

  


“Oh, Makki and Mattsun!” he says, waggling his fingers. The latter lifts his hand in acknowledgement and then they’re gone. 

  


> **FaceTime**  
>  Call Ended

  


“Rude,” Oikawa pouts. “What was that?”

  


Iwaizumi makes a noncommittal sound, not trusting his voice. He scowls down at his phone. Traitors. Looking back up at Oikawa, he’s already made himself comfortable on Iwaizumi’s desk chair, toweling his hair dry with one hand and flipping through some stray course printouts scattered on his desk with the other. He’s humming softly, spinning in lazy circles. 

  


Iwaizumi watches him for a minute, his heart pittering weakly in his throat. He thinks back to what Matsukawa had said, about Oikawa not saying anything because he was respecting Iwaizumi’s boundaries. If he reciprocated though, wouldn’t the boundaries be rendered null regardless? If Oikawa knew and felt the same, he would have said something, right? 

  


Iwaizumi’s eyes pinch shut in frustration before snapping back open, focusing back on where Oikawa has now left the chair and is perusing the books stacked on the shelf pushed against his wall. He watches as Oikawa delicately slides one out, flips to a random page, and skims the first couple lines before replacing it in obvious boredom. Moving on to the next book, Oikawa repeats the action as if expecting a fairytale rather than the workbook pair to the textbook he just looked at. The towel is left behind on the arm of his desk chair, and in between scanning books Oikawa fluffs up the damp strands in an attempt to somewhat style it. 

  


Dork. Warmth blooms in Iwaizumi’s fingertips. 

  


“Oikawa,” he interrupts. He thinks back to Matsukawa’s words. That Oikawa was waiting for him. In university, neither one of them had ever had a long-lasting relationship. They’d both had their fair share of flings and short relationships, but they were both too driven. Nobody could keep up with Oikawa, his passion and lust for life, and Iwaizumi could never be satisfied with anyone but Oikawa anyways.

  


It’s worth a try– _Oikawa_ is worth a try. Worth everything. Oikawa looks at him curiously, stopping his browsing to let him go on, hand pausing on the next book on the shelf (Encyclopædia Britannica, fifteenth edition). Iwaizumi steels himself.

  


“That day, after practice. In the winter, on the way home.” Iwaizumi met Oikawa’s gaze steadily. “With Makki and Mattsun. What did you say to them– how, how did you know?” 

  


Oikawa glances down to his phone screen, still displaying the text chat. Oikawa smiles softly, his eyes twinkling merrily with none of his usual flippancy. He pushes away from the shelf, bare feet padding on the wooden floor as he approaches the bed. Iwaizumi sits up, gathering the blanket around himself, suddenly self-conscious.

  


Oikawa grabs one of the plain pillows, a stark contrast to the numerous cartoon plushies that adorned his own. Hugging it close to his chest, Oikawa leans forward slightly. A strand of hair falls loose in front of his eyes and does nothing to hide the intense stares he pins on Iwaizumi, eyes glittering and bright. 

  


“Iwa-chan. _Take a chance._ ”

  


He knows. If there was any doubt in Iwaizumi before, it’s gone now. Oikawa knows, and he’s okay. 

  


Slowly, Iwaizumi leans forward, eyes locked on Oikawa’s. Oikawa gives an almost imperceptible nod, and then Iwaizumi is lunging, surging forward with reckless abandon, with need. The blanket pools around the both of them, cocooning them in their own small ring as he lets his eyelids flutter shut. 

  


He presses a hot, lingering touch of his lips to the corner of Oikawa’s mouth. 

  


Softly, passionately, he takes the chance.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _head in hands_  
>   
>  thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed! <3


End file.
